


The Law of the Wind (that came stirring the sap)

by TLvop



Category: Well of Loneliness - Radclyffe Hall
Genre: Alternate Reality - Young Wizards universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Being a Teenager, Books, Gen, Horses, Young Wizards canon knowledge unnecessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLvop/pseuds/TLvop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raftery watched Stephen go, and shifted in his stall. He did not understand English, it was true, but he was not an unknowing horse. Any creature raised in Ireland knew wizards, with the patchwork they'd made of his land so it was all seams. And he knew his rider, and loved her.</p><p>Horses are great gossips, and the word quickly spread – there was finally a wizard in the Malvern Hills, and she was Raftery's rider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Law of the Wind (that came stirring the sap)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atreic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atreic/gifts).



> I've used female pronouns in keeping with the text, but Stephen is not cis and in another cultural context may have chosen other pronouns for gender expression.
> 
> I have quoted in full the Wizard's Oath, from Diane Duane's So You Want to be a Wizard, and it's off-set in block quotes. This fic was written to be understandable if you're unfamiliar with that canon, and just to use it to illuminate Stephen's own character – I hope it's enjoyable!
> 
> Many thanks to my SPaG/flow betas ryfkah and Kerioth, as well as to ElStaplador for advice on characterization and the canon blend. Any errors that remain are 100% my fault.

_Chapter One_

_1_

The book had been there for a long time. It wasn't the type of book to draw the particular attention of anyone, much less a child who preferred gilt-edged titles of adventure. It was bound in green cloth, and narrow enough to slip into a lady's pocket. Stephen had no interest in reading it, as any book even her childhood nurse had passed by for reading aloud could not be said by anyone worth discussing to be interesting.

However, it was a part of the Nursery, and even as the books fell away while Stephen trained her body instead of her mind, even while nothing but French was studied, it remained.

Stephen did not find any of this particularly strange until she solemnly cleaned the nursery upon Mademoiselle Duphot's departure, waiting with something between stillness and sickness for her serious future to arrive. The book when Stephen saw it this time still lacked a title, but had suddenly a look of importance she had never yet noticed.

Stephen picked the book up from where it had been hidden, fallen sideways behind the other trophies, with the edge of her fingertips. A shiver ran from her fingertips to her shoulders, and she glanced over one of her shoulders at the door. She was suddenly frightfully concerned her undignified reaction would be noticed. Stephen flushed at the imagined laughing of the house maids, and grasped the book rather more tightly. She stalked to the desk, shoulders and mouth set with all seriousness, and sat firmly in her chair.

Sir Philip had taught her well enough that even in her awkward haste Stephen opened carefully to the frontispiece, supporting the spine of the book in one broad hand. The frontispiece was in a plain font, and had the picture of a horse's head, raised in noble stubbornness, looking at her.

The title read On the Art of Wizardry, or: How to pursue justice and truth as a knight errant in this modern age.

Stephen swallowed, and read the title again. She considered it. She cleared her throat, and attempted a laugh, but it would not come.

So Stephen stood abruptly, and tucked the book into one of her pockets, and strode down through the hall and down the staircase. At this time of the day, she would meet the housemaids as she left, and she would need something to say to sound natural. She could say something about the stables, maybe Raftery…

"Oh, Miss Stephen, lovely weather for walking, isn't it?" one said before Stephen could notice her, which caught Stephen entirely by surprise.

"Ah," Stephen said. "Ah, yes," and kept walking. Behind her, noise resumed, but she had been too inward focused to hear it as she had approached and so it sounded like it had started from silence. And she knew it was about her – she was a fool! Of course they laughed.

On winning the yard, Stephen headed for the beech wood, and found a shaded place far enough into the trees to afford her privacy, but close enough to the boundary that she could hear if her name was called. She pulled out the book once more.

Now in the sunlight, as much as the shade blocked it, she could see the same noble horse face stamped lightly onto the green cloth, and it endeared the queer book to her. Stephen steadied her breath and cracked open the book again, surprised somehow to find it exactly as she had left it. She turned the page, and began to read.

She soon was neck deep in the book, with its talk of qualifying trials – like a knight's _ordeal_ , to prove himself worthy of his cause -- and slowing down the death of the universe, which Stephen had not even realized was dying. The mistakes of Adam had rotted the world to its core, she knew that, but not these implications of the Devil's actions. The Lone Power, the book called him. She read of the art of untangling intentions and easing pains and, oh, facing evil for what it was and issuing a _challenge_. Stephen was so taken with this new call to action that it was only the fading light which kept her from reading the binding Oath immediately.

That was good, she realized after her initial frustration. A child of Morton had no right to take oaths on a whim, even ones in books. Their honor was important to uphold, and it was clear to Stephen that even if the magic part was false this was not the sort of oath you could pretend to have never spoken.

_2_

The book was forgotten in the bustle of changing for dinner, and by the time Stephen remembered it, her mother and father were playing back and forth with their words in the study, and Stephen could not ask her father for advice. Stephen rose quietly, and left to find the book to read on her own.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to believe its claims, but something about them seemed infinitely _right_ to Stephen. That was why it could not be ignored. If all Stephen did as a knight errant (she shied away from _wizard_ ) was settle disputes like a learned diplomat and try even more not to yell at people except when absolutely necessary, then that would be what she swore to do.

Stephen read carefully over the oath and scowled. Not at the contents so much, but at how to approach it. Ten pages back, Stephen carefully reread, "If a young person passes their wizarding ordeal, this trial of skill and character, they will themselves become a recognized wizard." And no sign of what might happen if they failed. Nothing good could come of failing, surely.

This was enough considering. It was clearly time for action, and responsibility, and now she could not even imagine how to bring it up to Sir Philip. Perhaps after the trial, when she knew if she had succeeded or failed, and could bring that to him for validation or in confession.

She changed into her fencing clothes, adding a riding jacket and pulling her hair back tight. She gathered her fencing foil, and a small knife, and after some debate pulled on her riding gloves.

There. She was prepared for what might follow. She flexed the muscles of her arm, to remind herself she was strong, and re-opened the book.

> In Life's name, and for Life's sake, I say that I will use the Art for nothing but the service of that Life. I will guard growth and ease pain. I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way; and I will change no object or creature unless its growth and life, or that of the system of which it is a part, are threatened. To these ends, in the practice of my Art, I will put aside fear for courage, and death for life, when it is right to do so till the Universe's End.

Stephen read it quietly but swiftly, knowing it must be read but fearing still the reactions of the household. Yet, as loud as the words seemed as Stephen read with a hushed whisper of a voice, with Morton leaning in to listen, no one came to quiet her.

She swallowed once, throat dry, and set the book down. She waited as the lamp slowly flickered out. Keeping watch through the night was something Stephen could do, and must do.

_3_

She woke up with a terrible tightness in her neck and back, still in the chair, in the pre-dawn quiet. Still in Morton. Stephen frowned down at the closed book, but there was no real heat in it. She should have known. Stephen Gordon was not Lord Nelson, and was certainly not a knight errant for Life.

Still, the book had hurt Stephen's heart, so it was returned to a spot behind the shelf, and she went to seek her bed.

_Chapter Two_

_1_

The morning might as well have been overcast for how gloomy Stephen felt, and Stephen didn't like it any better for the buttery warmth of its sunlight. She avoided talking when possible, instead scowling as she ate a quick breakfast. For the most part, it worked.

Stephen went quickly from the table to the stalls, and helped Williams until he was called away to prepare the dog-cart. Then she ducked into Raftery's stall, even though he had been brushed and fed before she was up, and sat there watching him solemnly. He blinked a thoughtful eye back at her, expression soft.

"Oh," Stephen said, suddenly. "That's the worst of it. If it had been true, I could just come in here and say _dai stiho!_ – or hello, in the Speech, and you would have understood."

At the words in the Speech, Raftery's ears pricked up, and he whinnied quietly, but Stephen wasn't paying attention and had not yet really learned how to listen. She just patted a hand against his neck in a soothing fashion.

"It's just, I thought…" Stephen sighed, and relayed the whole story, looking into the knowing grey eyes of her hunter. He waffled into her hair when she was finished, and she laughed abruptly. "But of course you don't understand. Thank you, Raftery."

Raftery watched his companion go, and shifted in his stall. He did not understand English, it was true, but he was not an unknowing horse. Any creature raised in Ireland knew wizards, with the patchwork they'd made of his land so it was all seams. And he knew his rider, and loved her.

Horses are great gossips, and the word quickly spread – there was finally a wizard in the Malvern Hills, and she was Raftery's rider.

_2_

Miss Puddleton, Stephen's new tutor, came to Morton, and on her heels came a sickly new car Sir Philip was convinced was the greatest invention of the new century. Between the two of them, Stephen no longer had time to think about the book. For nearly a week, at least.

Starting a week after Miss Puddleton's arrival, the book appeared every evening before Stephen went to sleep, next to her pillow. After five evenings in a row of it returning, Stephen picked it up on the sixth morning and walked it into the study room, setting it down on the desk in front of Miss Puddleton.

"Why are you doing this, Miss Puddleton?"

"Why," Miss Puddleton asked, looking at her with something like amusement, "am I doing what?"

Stephen was suddenly aware of how odd the complaint sounded. "Every night," she said, careful, "this book is on my bedside, and I don't put it there."

"Then clearly it wishes to be read." Miss Puddleton cleared her throat. "As does your Greek."

Stephen hesitated before nodding awkwardly, and slotting the book back onto the bookshelf.

That evening, when she found the book again by her pillow, Stephen opened to the foreword. But the foreword was not there, instead the page read Basic Vocabulary in the Speech, and Stephen frowned. She flipped half the book on, only to find the same title.

"I understand, you want to be read," Stephen whispered to it, but a thrill raced through her. Was she to be a modern knight after all?

Stephen stayed up nearly the whole night reading, and Miss Puddleton was surprisingly kind about her exhaustion. Though she was reminded, tartly, that no one could learn new material while nearly asleep.

_3_

Stephen did not attempt to speak again to Raftery, holding to herself private concern that he would not understand. Or worse, that he would, and think her a fool for not trying earlier or better. Neither did she consider him attempting to speak to her, which is why two days later he was forced to nip her as she brushed him.

" _Why would you do that?_ " Stephen asked in the Speech, scowling. It had taken to her mouth and her brain far faster than French, and definitely faster than Greek. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice when she spoke it by accident – except Miss Puddleton, who occasionally looked as if she was debating mentioning it.

Raftery blew air in her face. " _To get your attention_ ," he replied, in the same language. His voice was dignified, but harboring a spark, exactly as she would have imagined it. " _The Leg-Lamer is working near here, and you are needed, Stephen Gordon._ "

The Leg-Lamer. The Lone Power. Stephen stared a long moment. " _Yes,_ " she said, slowly, committing herself to the motion half-way through the word. " _Yes, I'll go. Will you take me_?"

" _Gladly_."

_4_

Fiddle was an old horse, and a wizard herself. That shocked Stephen, who had not considered that if creatures from other planets could be wizards so, potentially, could horses.

Horse wizardry was very different from human wizardry, and power was strongest in the young. But Fiddle helped Stephen find the right spells, and reassured her as she drew them. Fiddle beat her hooves rhythmically as the sky darkened, to produce little glowing lights.

"Do not lie," Fiddle told her, before she completed the knot. "A lie in the Speech will undermine everything you speak, at best, and at worst – it will force it to become true."

Stephen looked down at where she had written her name and family and, after a moment's pause, erased one swoop – changing _daughter_ to _child_. She didn't look at it after that, because she didn't want to – it didn't _matter_ , she thought fiercely, but it wasn't worth risking.

She completed the knot, and power pooled into the spell. She caught it about the edges, and pulled – flattening it and tying it into a band for her hair.

_5_

When Stephen finally faced the Leg-Lamer, or the male form he was wearing, she was alone. Raftery was spearheading the rescue of the horses that the being that called himself Sir Matthew had been…altering.

She breathed, lungs aching as she pushed herself up from the cold ground, hands torn from her fall. "Fairest and Fallen," Stephen said, looking up. She had grounded herself, feet apart, the traditional greeting coming to her mouth like it was written on her tongue. "Greetings, and defiance."

The man looked at her for a long moment, and _laughed_. "And who is this? A girl dressed as a warrior?"

Stephen flushed deep with embarrassed anger, and her hand clutched the stick in her hand. Fiddle had told her not to activate the spell until she needed it, that the power to wield the sword it would turn into could cause actual harm – well. Stephen had not been trained.

But neither did Stephen enjoy being laughed at.

Stephen put her left hand up to spell twisted around her pigtail, and _pulled_ as she charged.

_Chapter Three_

Stephen slept for four days, wrapped up tight. Her mother fed her broth when she awoke, though they only barely spoke, their old awkwardness only slightly mollified by Stephen's temporary dependence.

When finally she was well enough to get up and walk, Morton seemed both familiar and new to her. It had always known her, but now she better knew it – could understand the whispers of the yards, and the song of the birds, and empathize with the boards she laid a hand to.

Stephen shrugged on her stable clothes, and went to see Raftery – only stopping briefly by the study room to look in. Sure enough, Miss Puddleton was sitting there, balancing the ledgers for Stephen's mother, and she glanced up, the smile in her eyes even before her mouth tilted up.

" _Dai stiho_ , wizard."

Stephen stared. Then she looked around her, and came in, shutting the door behind her. "Are you – you're – _Dai stiho_ , I mean. Are you on errantry?"

"Not now," Miss Puddleton said, "but I have been asked to look after your training. You could have used much less energy had you known some basic workarounds. The wizard in charge of this region found this convenient. And I do like working with you, Stephen."

"I like working with you, too," Stephen said, suddenly shy. She looked down at her stable clothes. "Should we start now, or…?"

"Let Raftery see you're better, and I'll finish up these numbers. But I expect you back by tea."

They exchanged a smile that was almost like friendship, and Stephen rushed out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from page 26 of my copy of The Well of Loneliness; in full it reads "He [Sir Philip, Stephen's father] taught her the simpler laws of nature, which, though simple, had always filled him with wonder: the law of the sap as it flowed through the branches, the law of the wind as it came stirring the sap, the law of bird life and of the building of nests, the law of the cuckoo's cry which in June changed to 'Cuckoo-kook!' He taught out of love for both subject and pupil, and while he thus taught he watched Stephen."
> 
> \--
> 
> Dear recipient, thank you so much for this lovely prompt and bringing me back to this canon! I unfortunately did not have the time to research enough about France in the 1920s to write a Stephen/Mary fixit fic, so I decided to write a fixit universe because a Stephen forced to be a wizard would be a Stephen forced to confront her own identity in every way, and also allowed to be heroic and save the day. I hope your Yuletide is amazing, and that the rest of your holiday goes well! Enjoy a hot/cold (depending on local ambient weather) beverage on me!


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